


A Normal Teatime Chat

by miraclebound (Ella_Tiga)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, IwaOi Week, M/M, Pre-Relationship, day one: childhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 19:22:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2240550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ella_Tiga/pseuds/miraclebound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Oikawa asks some really tough questions, and in those rare instances, Iwaizumi wonders if he's really the one in control of his own heart. </p>
<p>Alternatively: Oikawa wonders aloud what their kid would be like and Iwaizumi nearly has a heart attack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Normal Teatime Chat

**Author's Note:**

> Posted for Iwaoi week day one, prompt: childhood.
> 
> So I kind of took this prompt and picked at it until I found a topic I was happy with. Which basically means I ignored the real prompt and took this out of thin air. But! They're still talking about kids so I sort of stayed in line. 
> 
> In other news this is the first fanfiction I've ever posted. I finally did it. Go me.

 

Iwaizumi was sitting on the couch in their apartment, idly flipping channels on the television.

“If we had a kid--”

“What the _hell_ Oikawa?” He twisted his head to look at his idiot friend, stunned, the remote dropping out of his hand and onto his lap. Oikawa paused in the middle of his question, giving just the right amount of time for Iwaizumi’s outburst before resuming.

“--do you think she’d be more like you or me?”

Oikawa was leaned over in the kitchen, arms folded on the counter with his head resting lazily atop them. Iwaizumi was poised with a grimace and a raised eyebrow, leaned over the back of the couch. But Oikawa wasn’t looking at him; his face was turned the other direction, staring at the tea kettle on the stove as if it was the one who would answer his question. Iwaizumi frowned.

“What the hell makes you ask that, of all things?”

Oikawa’s shoulders lifted and fell lazily. There was a wrinkle in the side of his forehead, so that even with his face turned away, Iwaizumi could tell his eyebrows were knotted  in concentration. Maybe stubbornness. Oikawa’s voice, on the other hand, obviously wanted to keep the conversation light and joking- a hopeless venture, considering to whom he was talking. Iwaizumi had known this man for years; they had grown up together. Inferring when Oikawa Tooru actually (and secretly, sometimes, even to himself) wanted to be taken seriously had become one of Iwaizumi’s major skills. Something worthy of a résumé, surely, what with how rarely it ever happened.

But out of all things, why was he considerably curious about this? The lack of eye contact and frilly tone of voice meant he didn’t want Iwaizumi to think he was serious, so something must have been eating away at his nerves. But _kids?_ With _Iwaizumi?_ Sure they were friends (best friends he supposed, although there were many moments during the span of their relationship when he genuinely disliked the guy) but never had there been an inkling toward more than that. Sure they hadn’t been too serious with any girls ( _Yet,_ Iwaizumi sternly mumbled to himself). And _sure_ , they spent more time with each other than anyone else. _Sure_ they moved into the same apartment together when it came time for college and absolutely nobody was surprised about it (apparently his mother had already assumed, and it was convenient not having to search for someone else to room with). And _sure okay fine_ Oikawa wasn’t that bad to look at and _so what_ if they had some things in common including volleyball and the kinds of video games they liked to play and their favorite restaurants nearby within walking distance which they stopped by twice a week for takeout like clockwork—

— but Iwaizumi had never thought about Oikawa that way, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Except he sort of already had _damn him_.

“My mom was getting all sentimental over the phone the other day and started talking about how much I’m like dad. So I was just wondering what you thought.” Oikawa paused for a moment, still not looking at Iwaizumi. “Would she be popular like me, or no fun like you, do you think?” Iwaizumi’s eye twitched in annoyance, and Oikawa chose that time to glance at him, sticking out his tongue and winking playfully before returning to his previous position.

“Maybe he’d have some self-control, unlike you.”

“Hey-!”

“The ability to actually be serious about something?”

His mouth was open to reply, but instead Oikawa slowly closed it without speaking. In his indignation, he had stood tall and turned to face Iwaizumi and the living room as a whole. Iwaizumi watched as his friend’s eyebrows knotted again, maintaining eye contact for a couple seconds before averting to the carpet at his feet. Iwaizumi frowned again.

Oikawa’s next words were a bit mumbled, and Iwaizumi leaned forward over the back of the couch to hear them better.

“Would she play volleyball?”

“Probably.”

“But would she be a setter or a wing spiker?” Oikawa lifted his head with a pout.

Iwaizumi shrugged. “Whichever he wanted I guess.”

There was a sharp inhale, and Oikawa looked offended. “What is she didn’t want to be _either_?”

Iwaizumi shrugged again, making an annoyed face. He was starting to feel even more embarrassed about the current conversation. It was beginning to sound like a _serious_ discussion (instead of the hypothetical, joking sense that it should have had, because that’s all it _was damn it_ ), and it was putting him on edge. He turned around to face the TV screen, flipping the volume up two notches  and effectively ending his half of the talk.

After a minute or two, the smell of the tea, steeped, wafted into his senses. He waited a few moments, but when he heard nothing behind him he twisted his torso. “Oi, Idiot-Oikawa are you going to get the tea, or-?”      

Not having moved from his previous spot, Oikawa was staring out the window on the side wall. His eyes were glazed as if he was deep in thought. At Iwaizumi’s questioning, he flinched almost unnoticeably and spun into the kitchen without looking at his friend. “Yeah! Sorry!”

Iwaizumi watched closely and silently as Oikawa grabbed two cups out of the cabinet above the microwave, placed them on the counter beside the teapot, and poured some into each. He then grabbed them both by the handles and wandered around the couch to stand between it and the TV. He held one cup out to Iwaizumi with a squinty eyed grin.

“Here. You. Go!” He sang.

Iwaizumi grunted his thanks as he took the offered cup. He returned his gaze to the television, but when Oikawa sat next to him on the couch he found his attention quickly diverted. He kept his eyes trained forward even as his mind veered sharply left to the man beside him. Their couch was small (although not quite enough to be demoted to the title of loveseat) but they had found it at a yard sale for about ten dollars in relatively good condition so they had snapped it up. It wouldn’t be useful if they had guests over, but that wasn’t really a problem as they hardly ever invited anyone into their home. If they sat at opposite ends of the couch, there was a comfortable foot and a half of space between them, but today Iwaizumi felt as if that distance was entirely too little. Which was ridiculous because Oikawa was a clingy person and Iwaizumi often found himself pulled in for a hug, or playfully patted on the shoulder, or his upper arm held in a childish grip as they walked through campus. Really, Oikawa had little concept of personal space in general ever since they were elementary students, _so why was this feeling so different?_ He felt constricted, pushed against the right arm of the couch, grip tight on the cup between his hands, sweat beading on his forehead much more prominently than before.

_Is Oikawa sitting closer than usual?_ He wasn’t leaning up against the left arm of the couch; his legs were curled up underneath him and sticking out toward the left, causing the bulk of his body to lean precariously closer to Iwaizumi, narrowing the distance. The whole of Iwaizumi’s brain was focused intently on the fact that if Oikawa lost his balance (which looked likely what with the amount of tilt his body currently held), he would immediately go toppling into Iwaizumi’s side, and the foot and a half space between them would be swallowed up. Iwaizumi glanced out of the corner of his eyes, down toward the empty couch space. It wasn’t big enough for an adult to fit comfortably—

— but maybe enough for a small child.

Iwaizumi cleared his throat as softly as he could, snapping his eyes back to the TV screen. He could feel his face heating up, a chill running down his spine as another drop of cold sweat dripped down. As long as Oikawa didn’t notice anything _wrong_.

“Iwa-Chan--”

_Damn him._ His shoulders tensed.

“--are you actually going to drink your tea? It’s not that hot anymore. And after all of my hard work serving it to you, too. How rude.” He had a typical pout on his face as he stared at his friend, seemingly oblivious to Iwaizumi’s inner panic.

Instead of grunting in acknowledgment like usual and sipping his tea, Iwaizumi blurted out the first words that came to his head. Maybe it was the unfamiliar, nervous, walking-on-broken-glass gleam in Oikawa’s eyes. Or maybe it was the pure curiosity that had been eating away at his chest since Oikawa had asked that first question. Nonetheless, Iwaizumi proceeded to ask:

“Why did you keep saying _she_?”

And then he promptly jolted in shock at himself so violently that his full cup of tea spilt on the bottom hem of his shirt and the couch beside him. Cursing, he jumped to a stand and set his cup down on the end table. Grateful for the opportunity to escape, he walked to the kitchen to grab a towel. When he returned, Oikawa was in the same position as before, watching him closely. Iwaizumi glanced down and away from those curious eyes and focused instead on scrubbing the tea out of their couch cushions. 

“Why did you keep saying _he_?” Oikawa countered. When Iwaizumi gave no response except for the continued sound of towel against couch material (as the thumping of his heart in his chest was borderline painful and terrifying and the lump in his throat had become a boulder), Oikawa pushed on. “I’m not sure,” he said with a shrug, “I think it’d be more fun to have a girl. She’d be a little princess.”

Iwaizumi huffed in amusement. “You’d be a horrible parent.”

“ _Hey!_ ”

“You’d spoil her too much, and she’d be a brat.”

“Well, that’s why you’d be there.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, she’d have a dad to spoil her and a dad to teach her to be a tough girl.”

When Iwaizumi finally dared to look up at him, Oikawa was gazing at the carpet with a smile. The movement of the towel stopped as Iwaizumi paused to think, staring at his friend’s face. His mind strode forward at full speed, imagining a little girl with big brown eyes, long wavy brown hair, smile wide and showing a missing front tooth, wearing a white and aqua jersey and shorts, fingers brought up by her face in a peace sign, other hand clasped in Oikawa’s with the man leaning down and making a similar face beside her. She had just participated in her first volleyball match. They were obviously posing for a picture, and Iwaizumi placed himself behind the camera.

“Yeah.”

Oikawa looked over to him with big eyes, and even when Iwaizumi felt his face heat up (boulder in his throat crumbling to little pebbles that made his voice gravely until he was tripping over each measly consonant), he couldn’t look away. “A girl, yeah. I could do that.”

It took a few seconds, but Oikawa’s features eventually morphed into colossal grins and bright eyes. Iwaizumi’s brows furrowed in annoyance (a typical reaction when he was unable to think of the correct response quickly enough), but he couldn’t help the tiny smile that formed either. He turned his face away and sat on the ground in front of the couch, trying to tune back into the television. He heard the _dink_ of Oikawa placing his tea on the end table and then felt the weight shift on the couch behind him. Oikawa was laying on his side, arm bent and head resting on his hand; the position placed his face in a spot right above and behind Iwaizumi’s left shoulder, and he tried not to frown at the sudden closeness. It was normal in public, but here, alone in their house together, it felt intimate.

When Oikawa spoke again, about ten minutes later, he was close enough to Iwaizumi’s ear that he only had to whisper. Iwaizumi stiffened to prevent himself from shivering.

“What would we name her?”

Iwaizumi pulled his head away to the right in a show of exasperation. “Can we just go back to pretending this conversation didn’t happen?” (His mind sped forward, once again, at the speed of light until the only presence was that of strings of letters which formed children’s names, primarily feminine in nature.)

Oikawa let out a small laugh, but he thankfully relented and went quiet. When Iwaizumi moved his head back upright, Oikawa let his own head fall forward. He couldn’t possibly see the TV from that position, Iwaizumi thought, but then Oikawa sighed, relaxing comfortably onto his shoulder, brown hair brushing softly against his neck.   

Iwaizumi supposed that was okay for now.


End file.
